


Lost Time

by exbex



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Coming Out, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 01:38:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6450241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exbex/pseuds/exbex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s more that he needs to add, Rick is sure of it, but the words are just out of reach. No, they’re within reach, but it’s as if they’re nestled among hot coals and they’re about to disintegrate like paper. He has to pull them out of the fire, but it’s going to hurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Time

**Author's Note:**

> Suicide of an OC occurring pre-story, off-page.
> 
>  
> 
> Check Please! belongs to Ngozi Ukazu.

Contrary to what may be popular belief, Rick Bittle does read more than just the sports section. If his interests in brain research and psychology is triggered by his status as a football coach, well, that’s to be expected. But he does dive further than research on concussions and sports psychology, and this is why he knows that everyone in Madison who’s world has been shaken by the untimely death of one of his players is caught up in a vicious loop of trying to find answers, of combing through hindsight and desperately trying to either reassure themselves that there were no warning signs, or, in some sense of self-flagellation, trying to find warning signs that they missed. Rick knows this because he’s read up on it, and though he can’t recall exactly what it’s named, he knows that the human mind is wired to look for patterns. But knowing all of this doesn’t stop him from falling into the same traps, even as he’s putting on his game face and making his own reassurances, resting his hand on one shoulder after another, listening and saying some variation of “It’s not your fault,” or “You couldn’t have known.”

The days are exhausting, not just from the weight of grief and anger, but from the silence that surrounds the community, silence that is laughable, because the note that Kevin left details exactly why he felt so desperate that he couldn’t see any other options. It’s after the funeral, after the first wave of his own grief and guilt and anger, that fear starts creeping in to join the demented little party in his head, and it’s this fear that finally drives him out of bed in the middle of the night. When Suzanne finds him at his computer not 40 minutes later, staring at statistics involving suicide and LGBT youth, she sits down beside him, puts an arm around his shoulders, and, like the saint that she is, waits.

“The last time you talked to Junior….” Rick’s voice catches, and he tells himself that it’s because it’s sleep-roughened, “did he seem okay?”

“He’s doing fine,” Suzanne murmurs and squeezes his shoulder just a bit more firmly. “Worried about you right now.”

He’s always been a good boy, Rick thinks, and immediately feels a fresh wave of fear, because if Eric thinks that he’s not good enough… “Suzanne, when he gets here for   
Christmas break-“ and his voice threatens to give out on him, a lump rising in his throat, “we have to tell him…”

“We will.” The silence is soothing, for the first time in weeks. It’s broken by the sound of Suzanne’s voice, not like a crack in ice, but like a small stone creating ripples in the water.   
“If Jack is able to work around his schedule, he may be visiting for New Year’s.”

Rick has known her long enough to recognize the inflections in her voice and therefore he realizes that this is not a casual reminder. The pieces come together readily and Rick is struck by the way a person can know something before he knows it. He lays a hand over hers, marvels at how strong it is even as it’s engulfed by his own. “Well, I guess it’ll be a good opportunity to have The Talk with that young man, make sure he has our boy’s best interests in mind.” It sounds mildly ridiculous even to his own ears, but Rick imagines that he can feel Suzanne’s face shift into a small smile as she rests her head on his shoulder.

**

Suzanne is working when Eric’s flight is scheduled to arrive, so the task of fetching him from the airport falls to Rick. Of course the flight is delayed, and by the time bags are collected and they’re driving away from the airport, Rick feels as if his nerves are shot. He and Suzanne had planned to approach Eric after dinner, but Rick’s stomach is in knots with a sense of urgency, which is not helped by the way Eric is giving him concerned looks. It’s why Rick pulls over into the parking lot of some large chain store, which he’s sure is one of the least desirable places to have a heart-to-heart, but he can’t let any more time pass. So of course once he’s turned off the engine, he finds himself unable to find the words. Suzanne might kill him; she’s closer to their son, and has the ability to start a conversation.

“Coach…you okay?” Rick looks at his son and notices the way he favors his mother. One day he’ll have the same amount of wisdom in his eyes that Rick always sees in Suzanne’s.

“Junior….your mother and I…we’re proud of you. And we love you, and….” Rick feels light-headed, and he has the sense of being caught in the middle of a storm. But waiting it out is not an option. “We don’t want you to feel like you have to keep secrets from us.” There’s more that he needs to add, Rick is sure of it, but the words are just out of reach. No, they’re within reach, but it’s as if they’re nestled among hot coals and they’re about to disintegrate like paper. He has to pull them out of the fire, but it’s going to hurt. “You don’t have to try to be something you’re not.” He could leave it at that. He wants to, because his voice will break at the next words, but he’s beginning to realize that when things are tough for too long they become brittle. It’s a hard lesson to learn.

His voice does break, but he manages to string together one more sentence. “And I’m sorry that I made you think that you did.”

It may be because old habits die hard or it may be because the ground already feels as if it’s moving out from under him, but when Eric curls into himself, his shoulders shaking, Rick feels mild panic well up inside him. He doesn’t turn away this time, but fumbles with both of their seatbelts so that he can pull his son into his arms.

Rick doesn’t know how long it is that he sits cradling Eric. Long enough that the afternoon begins to shift into dusk, long enough to feel a distinct pang over lost time; his boy is a grown man now, however young, and he wishes he had spent more moments holding him, long enough to feel a fresh pang of sorrow that Kevin’s parents will never hold him again, long enough to feel a sense of relief. 

When Eric pulls away, his eyes are red but his voice is surprisingly clear. “Coach…Jack and I….we’re…” Rick can tell from the set of his shoulders that there’s still tension in him, as if he’s afraid that he’s pressing his luck.

“I know Son. Well, we suspected. Your mother, actually. She warn-she told me last night.” The pause is awkward, and Rick realizes that they’re not quite out of the woods yet. “If he makes you happy, if he treats you right…” He doesn’t know how to finish his sentence, but it seems that he doesn’t need to; Eric’s face, his entire body, relaxes, as if a weight has been lifted off of him. 

They pull apart then, buckle themselves in, and Rick starts the truck. He adjusts the rearview mirror and takes one more look at his son. “You may want to warn him the next time you’ve got him on the phone. You know how protective your mother can be.”

Eric huffs a laugh at that, and gives him a look that Rick hasn’t seen in far too long. He shifts the truck into gear and, for the first time in weeks, cracks a genuine smile of his own.


End file.
